album cover
2-3 Break
587
Hip-Hop/Rap
2-3 Break was released on June 21, 1994 by Columbia/Legacy as a part of the album Street Level
album cover
Release DateJune 21, 1994
LabelColumbia/Legacy
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM97

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
The Beatnuts
The Beatnuts
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Lester Fernandez
Lester Fernandez
Composer
Bertony Smalls
Bertony Smalls
Composer
Jerry Tineo
Jerry Tineo
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
The Beatnuts
The Beatnuts
Producer
Chris Lighty
Chris Lighty
Executive Producer
Kirk Yano
Kirk Yano
Recording Engineer
Matt Tuffi
Matt Tuffi
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

[Intro]
You know what?
[Verse 1]
People call me the drunk, or the thick funk distributor
Looter, bag your whole store like my shooter
Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple
We get caught, it's strictly mental
A stone crook, I don't go by the book
You can't fool me with your gangster look
I truncate a Judas on my turf for wet pay
When I roll a blunt, they better rollerblade out
And don't try talking bold
'Cause I'll smack you with a bat like "Walking Tall"
What? You punk, who's gonna defend you?
When I bum rush your ass and stick an icepick in you?
Quick, your bitch caught a splinter from my dick
'Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind (McDonald's)
The bed slammer can stick a ho
With my king-size dick, and Don King sized hand again
Two, three, break!
[Instrumental]
I got so much of this style coming from my lips while
Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherfucking shit piles
Bang, I got my own thang, gang, ain't it proper?
Drop a hollow-point shelly on a copper (C'mon)
Let 'em fucking know who's the Kool, where I'm coming from
Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em
Bagging 'em, plus I hit they hoes in the mean (Yee-haw)
'Cause all I ever want is fame, bitches, and the green
Seen crazy **** get lost in the shuffle
With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble
Ta-dow, now (Ha), that's how it's falling
Whether I'm hitting skins or I'm motherfucking balling
Hanging with my crew on the Peekskill plain
I throw my shit when laying a bitch so get off my dick
Trick, you know my style, no, it ain't no use
'Cause I can keep your ho wet like a fucking douche (It's like that)
Two, three, break!
[Instrumental]
Taking the mic, no haps, I be the owner
My rhymes will make **** collapse into a coma
Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission
Deadly with intent to shell the opposition (Yeah)
Fucking with this flow, come on, yo, that's treason
**** fuck around and get shot for no reason
Junkyard ****, represent every time
Corona's in the house and, yo, Gab (Off the Richter Scale)
My rhymes quake up to a 9.4, ready for war, come forth
I'll floss my fronts with your spinal cord
Thought he got the drop, I possessed inside
Better off trying to survive under a cyanide landslide
But that ain't nothing like a penny in the vault (What?)
'Cause I assault **** who couldn't launch shit with catapults
So if you ever hear the name Gab One
Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun (Kid)
[Outro]
Word up, it's like that, Beatnuts, Triflicts in the house, yeah
Nineteen (Nineteen), gettin' money (Gettin' money)
You know what I'm sayin'? (You know what I'm sayin'?)
Word (Word)
Written by: Bertony Smalls, Jerry Tineo, Lester Fernandez
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